Into The Dark
by I Fancy Hugh Dancy
Summary: He's used to taking lives. But what happens when one is taken from him? For Murphy MacManus, the road to recovery is never easy. Maybe this time, the saviour is the one to be saved. A story about resurrection and second chances. Murphy-centric / MurphyOC.
1. Into the Dark

** INTO THE DARK **

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_**"I Will Follow You Into The Dark"**_

_**By: Death Cab For Cutie**_

_Love of mine some day you will die  
But I'll be close behind  
I'll follow you into the dark_

_No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white  
Just our hands clasped so tight  
Waiting for the hint of a spark  
If Heaven and Hell decide  
That they both are satisfied  
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs_

_If there's no one beside you  
When your soul embarks  
Then I'll follow you into the dark_

_In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule  
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black  
And I held my tongue as she told me  
"Son fear is the heart of love"  
So I never went back_

_If Heaven and Hell decide  
That they both are satisfied  
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs_

_If there's no one beside you  
When your soul embarks  
Then I'll follow you into the dark_

_You and me have seen everything to see  
From Bangkok to Calgary  
And the soles of your shoes are all worn down  
The time for sleep is now  
It's nothing to cry about  
Cause we'll hold each other soon  
The blackest of rooms_

_If Heaven and Hell decide  
That they both are satisfied  
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs_

_If there's no one beside you  
When your soul embarks  
Then I'll follow you into the dark  
Then I'll follow you into the dark_

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**Written by:** Lourdes, a.k.a. **I Fancy Hugh Dancy**

**Rating:**T - MA for violence, swearing and adult situations.

**Genre:** Hurt/Comfort/Tragedy/Drama/Romance

**Summary:** Murphy is used to taking lives. But what happens when one is taken from him? For Murphy MacManus, the road to recovery is never easy. Maybe this time, the saviour is the one to be saved. OneShot turned into story.

**Influences**: Boondock Saints (naturally), P.S. I Love You, Dexter, The Black Donnellys, Brotherhood, A Walk To Remember, The Departed.

**Disclaimer:**This story is pure fanfiction. I do not own the Saints. I own all the characters that are non-recognizable in the film.

**Author's Note:** This is my fourth BDS fic. Stemming from a short oneshot, I've been persuaded by the lovely BelhavenOnTap to continue this story, as there is so much to extract from it. Again, it's another "piece of experimentation", if you will, so it'll be a little different from my "regular" narrative structures/voices. If you have time, check out my other BDS fics: **"Even In Heaven"**,**"Till Death Do Us Part"**, and **"Path To Sainthood"**. I would love to hear from anyone and everyone. Any comments, questions, corrections, constructive criticism, suggestions and encouragement are welcome and appreciated!

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A light clink on the carpeted living room floor signaled another emptied bottle of Jameson's whiskey. Slouched upon a leather couch, Murphy MacManus let out a small hiccup, blankly gazing at what was left of his temporary solution. _Just another fuckin' trophy ta add ta my collection_, he thought wryly to himself, giving the bottle a curt kick and watching it roll away from his form. _Tonight's just another night without her_. Burying his face upon his calloused hands and then ensuing to run his fingers with annoyance through his cropped hair, he let out a long, jagged exhale. What had become of his existence? Could he really be classified as living when he felt emptier than the bottle in front of him?

Oh God, how he missed her. He missed her, he loved her, and he would do anything – walk through hell and back for all of eternity – to have her back, here, with him. She had entered his life unexpectedly, molded him into a new man, and truly showed him now to _live_ life. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it had abruptly ended, leaving him shattered, broken, and inconsolable. Now, only self-loathing, guilt, depression and unbridled anger pervaded his emotions. Her life didn't just end – it was taken from her.

And Murphy pointed the guilty finger at himself more than anyone else.

_"Murphy, you can't keep doing this anymore!" Uncontrollable tears cascaded from her face as she was no longer able to retain her former composure. "We're _married_ now. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"_

_He could feel is patience growing thin. "Of course it fuckin' means somethin' ta me! It means everythin' ta me!" Murphy snapped irritably in return, swirling to face her once more. Drilling a finger upon his heart in an exhibition of his emotions, he steadfastly proclaimed, "But ye just can't ask me ta leave me Da and me brother ta be the Saints. I can't let 'em do all o' this shit on their own! Ye know that. Ye've known that from the very beginning!"_

_"This isn't only about you or me, Murphy. Think about your mother!" She cried in unbridled upset, arm outstretched in front of her. "Do you know what the fuck she goes through whenever you three are out in the streets of Boston? Do you really want her to someday see three bodybags at the morgue instead of a husband and sons?" Her eyes closed as she began to unsuccessfully quell her oncoming tears. "This is no game, no fucking hobby, Murphy. One day it'll all catch up to you."_

He didn't believe her then. Fuck, he didn't want to believe her.

And it would only take one moment to make the unbeliever believe.

_"You fuckin' Saint pricks, thinkin' you can run the streets of Boston! Well, as I'll prove to you today, you're fuckin' mistaken."_

_At this point, Murphy received another blow to the jaw, causing him to spit out more blood and lose his breath. With ragged gasps for air, he twisted his head up to gaze at his wife, who sat across from him, through blurred vision. He attempted to reassure her with a hoarse whisper, "It'll be alright, love, I promise. Don't be scared, alright?"_

_Her muffled reply seemed so faint, so distant to him now. _

_"I think she's got somethin' to be scared of."_

_Murphy's ears then perked up to the sound of a clicking revolver. As he weakly turned his throbbing head, he perceived the barrel of a gun leveled with his wife's temple. With widened eyes, he maniacally attempted to escape from his bounds, though only managing to topple his seat over to the side. Hopelessly squirming upon the ground, he let out a raucous cry, with rivulets of tears cascading from his eyes._

_The shot rang through his ears and refused to subside._

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry!" At this point, he tried to block out the memories. He wanted so desperately to remember his wife, but he found that he couldn't do so without reliving her last moments on this earth. With a sob, he buried his hands in his arms, grief overtaking him in a stifling chokehold once more. Frankly, he didn't know how he was still managing to breathe at that moment. Murphy was so shattered, so entirely engulfed by misery, that he was even surprised that he hadn't already taken his automatic pistol, planted it upon his forehead, and shot his own fucking brains out till the cows came mooing back home. Ever since she had been taken from him, from as far back as his memory would take him through the years, Murphy would thoughtfully eye his personal pistol upon the top drawer of his closet. He knew it waited for him, called to him. It seemed to mock and taunt him, pushing to see how far his sanity would hold. So far, it held – and Murphy knew there was only one reason for that.

"Daddy, are ye cryin' again?"

The inquiry that came from such an innocent voice momentarily eased the ache in Murphy's heart. With a sniff to regain his composure, he turned his head towards his son, who meekly stood at the entrance of the living room. Disregarding his former inquiry, Murphy lightly questioned, "Liam, it's way past yer bedtime. What are ye doin' up?"

"Me bedtime stinks." At this declaration, Liam wrinkled his nose distastefully, even crossing his arms for effect. "Ye have ta change it, Da. I can't sleep during me bedtime!"

At this, Murphy actually managed to let out a light chuckle, shaking his head amusedly at his son's truly winsome personality. As he patted the empty seat beside him, Liam cheerfully skipped to his father's side, rightly jumping headlong upon his father's lap. Murphy easily caught him by the waist as he admitted, "I can't sleep either, kiddo. I've got lots o' things on me mind."

"Like the time Uncle Connor lit his butt on fire by accident? That was really funny!"

"No, Liam!" Scrunching his face in disgust, Murphy emphatically shook his head. After a slight pause, he then exhaled, "I'm thinkin' 'bout yer Ma."

Expressively furrowing his brows, Liam pouted, sitting up upon his father's lap. He said quietly, "I miss Ma." Tilting his head upwards to meet Murphy's gaze, he questioned lightly, "She's in heaven now, right Da? With all of the angels and saints?"

As he felt more tears threatening to form upon his eyes, Murphy wrapped Liam in a tight embrace. "She's here with us right now, son." He blinked through the tears, eyes reverently gazing up towards the heavens. "She's here with us."


	2. Sacrifice

**A/N: So, I did decide to make this a story! (Applause) Thanks to BelhavenOnTap, betty-boo and IrishSaints for commenting on the previous oneshot of this. Below is a "teaser" as to how the mood and language of this "experimental" story will be. Let me know what you think so I can decide whether to keep working on this story or concentrate my efforts on the "Even In Heaven" series! xx IFHD**

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**Chapter 2: Sacrifice**

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_**"Discovering The Waterfront"**_

_**By: Silverstein**_

_I will promise myself I won't care  
distracting myself from your stare  
and I've seen this mistake once before  
with your games I will never fall for  
I've hung up my guns  
I won't kill again_

_I won't forget you (I won't forget you)  
I'm not gonna let you win (I'm not gonna...)  
but I'm tired of lying  
tired of fighting you  
and it's not gonna change_

_You ask for my heart  
you know that I'm down  
but not the way you lie to me,  
you tear it all apart and beg for me to stay  
I've sailed off to sea (sailed off to sea),  
I'm not coming back_

_Counting down  
Make that sound  
And you know it makes no sense  
Counting down  
Till you mess around  
And I know you can't ever change  
When I'm trembling,  
Thrown overboard  
And I'm ready to relive the past  
Counting down  
Make that sound  
Break the silence_

_Pretend it's not forever,  
I'll pull myself together  
I'll say that I'll forget her,  
I'll breathe.  
And I'll say she never hurt me,  
And look at it as learning,  
And laugh about the good and the bad.  
Because I won't live forever  
We don't belong together,  
I know I'll feel better,  
One day when I can make it through._

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_More gangland assassinations. New threats._

_Won't it ever fucking end?_

_…It never ends._

Murphy couldn't concentrate on the droning sound of Connor's voice. At this moment, it seemed so distant, the words escaping from his lips nothing more than a jumble of incoherent noises. His eyes were fixated upon the bleak, white wall in front of him, continually staring at nothing in particular as the faint, muffled instructions of twin entirely permeated through him. _We keep a lookout 'ere, we wait there. The wife and kids are gonna be in danger if we_… He zones out once more. The fuck does Murphy care anymore? How the fuck is he supposed to save others when he could barely save himself? They were going to spare this fat fuck's wife when they didn't spare his?

Murphy's eyes then flickered to the tattoo upon his hand as he rotated his arm, still deep in thought. _Aequitas_. That was what he stood for. That's who he was. But what the fuck did it all mean now? He was expected to bring justice to all when he received none in the first place? Was God purposely fucking with him, testing him to his utmost limit, pushing him towards the edge of the cliff and waiting for him to jump with his own free will? He didn't understand how he had come to this and had readily accepted the fact that he never will. Maybe next lifetime, if there is one.

Murphy's brooding was disturbed as he felt a rough shove upon his chest. Regaining the focus in his orbs, his gaze immediately landed upon his annoyed twin, whose brows were furrowed and whose thin lips were curled into a refrained snarl. In a little short of a bark, Connor snapped, "Oi, Murph! Concentrate 'ere!" A guilty finger stretched out, pointed firmly upon Murphy's nose. "Ye know that we can't afford ta fuck this hit up. We've been waiting for these assholes to show themselves for months. This may be the only time that we can…"

Disregarding the continuous chiding of his brother, Murphy pushed himself from the kitchen table, scarping the wooden legs of his chair upon the dirtied tiles below. Taking a final drag of his miniature cigarette and necking a last swig of his beer, he made a move to crush his cigarette to death upon a nearby ashtray and throw another emptied bottle into the bin. Stalking out of the room without so much as a word, Connor's gaze followed him in silent incredulity, for once not knowing what the hell was running through his twin's mind.

A few moments later, Murphy returned with a pistol gripped tightly in his right hand. Momentarily alarming his brother, who stood from his seat so quickly that his chair toppled over behind him, Murphy immediately shook his head, a small gesture of reassurance that Connor wasn't able to fully believe. With mistrust colouring his expression, Connor stood, both arms propped upon the kitchen table. "What the fuck are ye doin'?"

With an abrupt flick of his wrist to the side, the four bullets of the gun were exposed with a click. Slowly twisting his arm, Murphy allowed each of the bullets to fall to their individual deaths, one by one. Four successive taps upon the floor then sounded, and they would soon be followed by a fifth. Loosening his grip, Murphy released the weapon from his hand, the pistol quickly joining the fate of the bullets below his feet. In firm declaration, he began, "I can't do this anymore, Connor. I can't."

"The hell are ye sayin'?" Connor stiffly stalked to his brother's side, concern and confusion imprinted on his handsome face. With a slow shake of the head, he continued unsurely, "Murph, ye gotta be…"

With all of his self-control waning, Murphy quickly felt his unbridled anger uncaged. Raising his arms to his sides, he boomed, "This job, this fucking _life_, Connor! I'm fucking sick and tired of it – all of it!" With a violent swing of his arm, he sent his former chair crashing towards the ground, splinters of wood littering the floor around him. "They killed my_ wife_ Connor! The woman I fucking loved! Ye don't know how that fuckin' _feels_ like, do ye?" Murphy resorted to pushing at his brother's hard chest, eyes squinted in a wince as an exhibition of his inner demons. "They might as well have put a fuckin' bullet through _my_ head! And ye know what? Every fuckin' night, I wish that they did!"

A strong grip upon Murphy's collar momentarily halted his speech and attacks. Connor held onto the fabric tightly, bringing his brother to his eye level. Deflecting the swings of Murphy's arms, Connor screamed, "What the bloody fuck did I tell ye 'bout talkin' that bullshit, huh?" Their gazes were now locked, a battle of wills commencing. "Have ye ever thought that ye lived for a reason? That God spared yer fuckin' life because ye were meant for a greater purpose?" Connor suddenly released him, sending Murphy to stumble back a few paces in order to regain is balance and a grain of composure. "I may not know how it exactly feels, Murph, but I know it hurts. It _will_ keep hurtin', Murphy, if ye don't know how ta fuckin' heal; if ye don't let yerself heal. Stop feelin' sorry for yerself and start thinkin' about yer fuckin' son!"

"I _am_ thinking about me son!" Murphy wailed, drilling a finger upon his heart. "He's all that I think about. He's the reason that I'm living. It's because of him that I'm giving this all up! Can't ye fuckin' see that, Connor? It'll always be Liam over the Saints." Murphy irritably ran a hand upon his face, a grunt escaping his lips. "It has ta be."

Connor found himself speechless at Murphy's declarations. What could he possibly say to dissuade his brother from doing otherwise? He had a valid point, and it hurt him that he did. "So yer just gonna give everythin' up? Yer gonna leave Boston's streets ta filth? Leave all the mafiosos ta run the city an' ta spread their influence?" He felt guilty for, in turn, attempting to make his brother feel guilty – but Murphy, giving up something that they've done for years, Murphy turning his back on his _calling_ – was it the right decision?

"If it's in exchange for me son, Con, then aye. For Liam." The tone of Murphy's voice somewhat softened at this point. A compassionate expression emanated from his steel-blue orbs as they landed upon his brother once more. "Did ye think we could keep doin' this forever? Haven't ye ever thought o' actually _livin_'?"

"I _am_ livin'," was Connor's curt, automatic response. There was no hesitation evident when he proclaimed, "I live ta protect others, ta protect me family. We're doing some good in the world, Murphy, and that's somethin' ta be proud of."

"And I understand that." Murphy sincerely replied, feeling a bit more level-headed. Though, a darkness in his eyes began to appear; the once mirthful sapphires now on fire. "But Liam's not goin' ta get involved in any o' this shit. Over my dead fuckin' body he'll _ever_ be exposed to any o' this." With his jaw clenched, his eyes surveyed Connor's alternately. "I'm not gonna drag 'im into the dark with us," he cleared his throat, lowering his head as he corrected, "...with me."

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**A/N: Did you all enjoy that? Should I continue? Is there hope for this story? haha Please let me know! xx IFHD**


	3. Relationship?

**A/N: Yaye, another update! Basically I'm going to decide how long this story will be depending on the responses that I receive regarding it. If this story doesn't seem to be doing so well, I will just concentrate my time and effort on the "Even In Heaven" series. But of course, if you guys want this story to continue, I'll keep writing it! Thanks to IrishSaints, Sith Happens, BelhavenOnTap, Bleeding Epiphony and Gen1 for reviewing. You really do help with encouraging me to write! Thank you for reading as well. xx IFHD**

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**Chapter 3: Relationship?**

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"_**More Time"**_

_**By: Needtobreathe**_

_I promised you the world again  
Everything within my hands  
All the riches one could dream  
They will come from me_

_I hoped that you could understand  
That this is not what I had planned  
Please don't worry now  
It will turn around_

_Cause I need more time  
Just a few more months and we'll be fine  
So say what's on your mind  
Cause I can't figure out just what's inside_

_I hoped that you could understand  
That this is not what I had planned  
Please don't worry now  
It will turn around_

_Cause I need more time  
Just a few more months and we'll be fine  
So say what's on your mind  
Cause I can't figure out just what's inside  
So say alright  
Cause I know we can make it if we try  
Cause I need more time  
Just a few more months and we'll be fine_

_We're off to new lands  
So hold on to my hands  
It's gonna be alright  
It's a whole lot brighter  
So stand by the fire  
It's gonna be alright  
Yeah, the road gets harder  
But it's not much farther  
It's gonna be alright  
You know that it ain't easy  
Please believe me  
It's gonna be alright_

_Please don't worry now  
It will turn around_

_Cause I need more time  
Just a few more months and we'll be fine  
So say what's on your mind  
Cause I can't figure out just what's inside  
So say alright  
Cause I know we can make it if we try  
Cause I need more time  
Just a few more months and we'll be fine_

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The feeling of slick skin, coupled with the sound of almost inaudible gasps of air, contributed to the milieu of wrinkled bed sheets, ripped clothing and disheveled hair. In a dimly-lit suburban Boston home, two faint silhouettes simultaneously rolled upon a creaking mattress, fighting for control, each exhibiting a primal dominance upon the other. More throaty groans elicited by wandering hands, rivulets of blood rushing through perspiring bodies as a result of erratically beating hearts. With a tense grunt, Murphy roughly pinned the female below him, holding her wrists steady, captive, immobile, upon either side of her head. To increase the proximity of their bodies, she sensually snaked her legs around his trimmed, smooth waist. Clinging to his neck, she screamed, hoarsely _begged_, for him to continue. With no hesitation, Murphy continued to thrust into her, more deeply this time, feeling his own self-control waning. In a steady rhythm, he repeated the relentless motion that continually encouraged the screams and moans to escape from their lips. Murphy could feel his climax steadily rising within him, and he was eager for his release; though, in the back of his mind, he prayed that the feeling that overtook his body for several minutes would, in some way or another, somehow fill the void inside of him.

But who the fuck was he fooling? Himself, apparently; this was just another woman, another temporary solution to the emptiness within him. Murphy refused to admit many things, even to himself, but over these past few months, one fact struck him the most: the more women he slept with, the lonelier he felt. How beautifully tragic, how functionally _pathetic_ this all was. God, how Murphy missed feeling the stirrings of love, to feel that emotion of longing for another human being to the point where the heart literally ached, physically constricted. Though, how was he to function with love when he barely remembered how love_itself_ functioned? How was he to love if he couldn't even see the face in front of him, to truly hear the voice that repeatedly called out his name?

No, he couldn't see a thing. This figure was empty, dark and bleak.

Just like him.

"I love you, Murphy."

His back automatically tensed at this whimpered confessional. Frozen, he momentarily halted his ministrations, concentrating on the sound of his heavy breathing instead of the now immobile form that lay below him. _Now, why do all o' these women have ta fuckin' _do_ this all the fuckin' time? Why the fuck do they _always_ have ta get emotionally involved? _In a matter of a few moments, elicited by four mere words, he had become irritable; he was annoyed at the pattern, at the cycle that he found himself in and couldn't ever break free from.

_Why can't they just fuck without fuckin' _thinking?

His thin lips remained sealed as he attempted to quell the rising upset within him. Pulling away from her as this declaration wholly ruined what he thought would've been a _wondrous_ climax, he exasperatedly pushed the wrinkled, damp covers from his form. Swinging his legs over the bed and feeling the cold, wooden floor beneath his feet, Murphy then proceeded to stand without a word.

She cringed at his reaction, or lack thereof, feeling her heart constrict. In an effort to pry any form of response from the Irishman, she eagerly blurted, "I want to talk about our relationship."

_Are ye fuckin' _kiddin'_ me? _This time, Murphy was almost unable to withhold his automatic scoff. Managing to do so inwardly, he fought hard with himself not to wince, instead resolving to fixate his gaze upon the closed window in front of him. He would look, he wryly thought, at anywhere but her bloody, pleading eyes. _Relationship?__ This was nowhere _near_ a fuckin' relationship!_ How could he aptly describe it? To put it bluntly in his own, _thoughtful_ words, this was probably closer to "regular-consensual-fucks"._ Aye, that about summed it up satisfactorily_. No strings attached – Murphy _hated_ strings – and absolutely no fuckin' notion of a dreaded _relationship_!

Well, apparently only in Murphy's eyes, anyway.

_"God, how I love ye." Murphy felt as though his heart was about to burst, overfilled with so much emotion for the woman that he held so tightly, so protectively, in his arms. With sincerity streaming from his tender voice, he proclaimed once more, "Ye have no idea just how much I love ye."_

_She inclined her head in order to meet his reverent gaze, lips curled into a brilliant smile that reached her expressive, green eyes. "I think I have a pretty good idea." Her lips were placed gently upon the tip of his arched nose, cheek gingerly brushing upon his. "You proposed to me, didn't you? Well, unless this is all some big joke that you and Connor are in on, then…"_

_He gripped her bottom in his calloused palms, sensually pressing her hips upon his. "I may tease ye a lot, love, but that ring ain't no joke," he paused to momentarily think, nibbling upon the side of her neck, "Come ta think o' it, I didn't laugh when I found out how much that bloody thing cost! Nevermind not laughin' at the bill – I almost had a bloody heart attack!"_

_They burst into simultaneous laughter, the lightness of their spirits colouring the sun-filled room around them. Murphy took in her scent as he committed to memory the sheer innocence that emanated from her giggles. He thought himself lucky, aye, truly lucky, for having this seraph bring him back to life. God had smiled upon him that day that he first saw her, awkwardly standing at the entrance of McGuinty's pub, attempting to find directions to a nearby bank. Along with her beauty, it was the genuine depth of sincerity of her person that immediately attracted him to her. He didn't want to let her walk out of that door without at least speaking with her; he knew that he couldn't. _

_But Murphy wasn't to be disappointed. _

_She locked eyes with him as she stopped spinning the illegible map in her hands. With confident, yet graceful, strides, she made her way to his side, stuffing the wrinkled piece of paper within her purse. A cordial smile appeared upon her full lips as she lightly questioned, "Hi, sorry to bother you, but I'm lost. Can you help me?"_

_Little did Murphy know, even at that moment in time, that _he_ would be the one to be helped and ultimately found._

The only thrusting that Murphy felt like doing _now_ was thrusting both of his legs into his boxers and trousers in order to place them on. With impatience lining his tone, he muttered, face partially turned towards her, "Look, ye knew from the beginnin' that I wasn't in any position ta be in a relationship. I _told_ ye from the very beginnin'. It was up ta ye ta take the chance, and, well, I guess luck wasn't in yer favour this time." _Shit._ Murphy surprised even himself at his statements. _Why the fuck was he so callous? __Ah, fuck it._ Trousers buttoned, belt buckled. _Where the fuck are my socks?_ He was through. "This isn't gonna go any further. I thought ye knew that."

"But I thought…" Propping herself up to sitting position, she fidgeted uncomfortably in her bed. Mouth slightly agape, she weakly inquired, "Don't you have any feelings for me?"

_No_.

Silence.

Murphy's eyes automatically reached towards the heavens as though he were praying for some divine intervention. "Helen, look…"

_Shit_. His wife's name. Jaysus fuckin' Christ, he did it again. _Fuck, here it comes…_

"It's _Jennifer_, you fucking asshole!"

_Aw shit, she's gonna cry. I hate it when they fuckin' cry!_

Murphy was now the sole target of rage – and lots of it. With various objects flying at him from different directions, he ducked, dipped and dodged as he, one by one, scooped up his belongings in his bare arms. Cursing to himself as he felt a maliciously-thrown can of hairspray collide with his forehead, he quickly strode towards the door, back now turned towards the furious woman upon the bed. _Another name crossed out from his list_, he thought wryly to himself, _at least, if he _remembered_ which fucking name to cross out in the first place._

"Get the _fuck_ out of my house and don't _ever_ think of coming back!"

He was more than willing to oblige.

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**A/N: You can probably tell I'm still trying to adjust to writing in this kind of voice. If you've read any of my other stories, it's probably not hard to see that I'm trying a different narrative voice in this one. I hope it works, though. If you have any suggestions and comments, let me know! xx IFHD**


	4. Reconnaissance

**A/N: So, even my own mother thought that this fic was a little depressing. (She's a Murphy fan and probably wouldn't appreciate what I have planned for him. My Da is a Smecker fan and remains unaffected.) Maybe I'll lighten up a little…maybe. I'd have to say, though, that I'm thoroughly enjoying exploring the dark side of a MacManus. It's not that I don't enjoy writing fun, happy stories, but I think this idea is just interesting to see. I'm happy that I'm getting responses, though. I didn't think this story would go over well with Murphy lovers in general! Thanks to BelhavenOnTap, Jade Opal, Bleeding Epiphony and Sith Happens for reviewing and thank you for reading and giving this story a chance. xx IFHD**

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**Chapter 4: Reconnaissance**

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_**"Broken"**_

_**By: Lifehouse**_

_The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight  
Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time  
I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts  
I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out_

_I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing  
With a broken heart that's still beating  
In the pain, there is healing  
In your name I find meaning  
So I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on  
I'm barely holdin' on to you_

_The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head  
I tried my best to be guarded, I'm an open book instead  
I still see your reflection inside of my eyes  
That are looking for a purpose, they're still looking for life_

_I'm hangin' on another day  
Just to see what you throw my way  
And I'm hanging on to the words you say  
You said that I will be okay_

_The broken lights on the freeway left me here alone  
I may have lost my way now, haven't forgotten my way home_

_I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin'),_

_I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin'),_

_I'm holdin' on (I'm still holdin'),  
I'm barely holdin' on to you._

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_"Da, I need ta pee!"_

_Murphy's eyes automatically shot open at his son's hissed statement. Eyes sliding to the side and peering down at his bobbing son, he caught the sight of Liam's tiny body coiled in discomfort, hands crossed in between his legs, crooked teeth biting his bottom lip. The miniature MacManus eyed his father expectantly through furrowed brows, though managing to keep silent in an automatic exhibition of reverence. Clearing his throat and crossing himself in the process, Murphy quietly stood from his position of genuflection. In response to his brother's questioning look, he merely tilted his head towards his wincing son. Seeing Liam's expression, Connor was almost unable to withhold his chuckles, nodding in complete understanding as he attempted to return to his silent prayer._

_With Liam contentedly relieved, Murphy then strode to Connor's side, who subsequently stood from the pew and crossed himself. "Con, can ye take Liam ta the car?" He requested quietly, "I'll just be a few more minutes."_

_"Pas de problè__me, Murph." With a nod, Connor lithely scooped Liam into his arms, ensuing to slug him over his shoulder. Liam, with gleeful laughter and wildly dangling feet, clung onto his uncle's arm as he was unceremoniously carried towards their parked vehicle._

_Placing his hands into his coat pockets as he observed this exhibition, Murphy felt a tinge of contentment, though was ultimately unable to emanate this emotion with a smile. Walking through the side exit of the church, he made his way down a beaten, grassy path, knowing so well the way to his destination. Stopping after a few moments, he crouched down, resting his elbow upon his knees. "Hey baby, how ye doin'?" He paused, as though expecting a response from the simple, grey tombstone. "Ye up there drinkin' with yer Grandda and Grandma? Thought so. Ye never stop, do ye, love?" Murphy let out a small laugh, shaking his head. His smile quickly dissipated, though, as he continued, "I'm really sorry I haven't been around in a while. Even though I've given up on all this Saints business, shit still seems ta happen ta me, ye know? Why is that, ye think? Ye think I'm cursed or somethin'?" Another pause. "It's like…God chose me ta do some good in the world, but I get fuck all in return. It isn't fair, is it?" _

_Can she even hear me?_

_No answer._

_"I still miss ye, love. I do, every single day." His eyes had begun to become misty, tears teetering on the brink of his eyelids. "Nothin' makes the pain go away. Nothin'."_

_A sudden movement in the distance caught Murphy's eye. Instinctively, he scanned his surroundings, finding a lone figure in front of another tombstone not too far away from where he was. He eyed the woman with silent curiosity, instantly recognizing her from his son's daycare: Lianna D'Arcy. As she bowed her head, Murphy merely continued to stare, feeling a morbid sense of – what was it? – _comfort_. Comfort in knowing that someone could empathize; comfort in the fact that, as much as he felt it, he wasn't alone in this pain._

_He briefly turned his gaze towards the direction of the retreating Connor and Liam. Then, finding that his curiosity overtook him again, his eyes flickered back to where Lianna's figure had been standing. At that instant, Murphy found himself alone once more._

Murphy anxiously gazed at the watch upon his wrist as he proceeded to maniacally blast the horn in the wake of traffic. Through gritted teeth, he snapped to no one and everyone in particular, "Come-fucking-on! What the fuck is this?" Another round of horns sounded from his vehicle, with Murphy disregarding the utter futility of the act. _Aye, in Boston traffic, horns do fuck all._ With tires screeching below him, he managed to cut off a dilapidated caravan to his right, driving haphazardly down a gritty side road in order to make it to an exit.

Racing at an ungodly speed towards the Arc-En-Ciel Daycare, he had enough sense to slow down as he turned into the parking lot, alert for any signs of pedestrians. At least there was enough sensibility left within him to do so. Screeching into an abrupt halt in an almost empty parking lot, Murphy exited the car with haste, nudged the door closed behind him with his elbow and raced towards the brightly-lit entrance. Able to catch his breath for a moment, he pushed and walked through the swivel doors, two hours after he had been scheduled to do so.

He made his way through a familiar, colourful corridor decorated by the numerous masterpieces of the center's children. Catching glimpses of smiling faces of stick figures, slanted homes and furry animals of various kinds, Murphy felt a wave of nostalgia course through him. Whether it reminded him of Liam's recent childhood or of his own, locked away in a distant memory, he couldn't figure out. The art of Innocence that surrounded him, coupled with the faint scent of lavender, sent him back into a world that he was no longer a part of – and could never be a part of again.

A certain picture then caught his eye. A paper of regular size was neatly taped on the center of the corridor wall. What caught his attention, though, was what it depicted. With bright, vivid colours painted upon the background, three, beaming stick figures stared back at him. In his interpretation, it depicted a little boy with a brown hat holding, presumably, his father's hand. The father figure's free hand pointed towards the sky, where amongst curving clouds, the third figure was drawn. At first, Murphy thought that the figure in the clouds was merely out of place, or, rather plainly, just portrayed some form of flight. Though, when he saw the shaky imprint of the artist's name at the bottom right of the masterpiece, he finally realized the picture's true meaning.

"Liam's growing up to be a fine artist, don't you think?"

Murphy had been so concentrated on his son's creation that he hadn't heard Lianna D'Arcy's footsteps lithely coming up behind him. There was no hint of upset in her question, though when Murphy whirled around to face her, the expression of irritation was clearly imprinted on her face. Crossing her arms in front of her and disregarding all forms of formality, she continued in a sweet, though mocking, tone, "Which reminds me – he's been waiting for you here for over two hours."

Murphy quietly observed the pursing of her pink lips and the stillness of her long, black hair as she awaited his response. Her golden-brown skin seemed to glow with anger at his silence, which somewhat amused him. Clearing his throat after a comfortable silence, Murphy then replied with a tilt of his head, "I was caught up in somethin' then got stuck in traffic. Ye gotta understand how impossible downtown traffic is 'ere in Boston…"

Crossing her arms in front of her chest in an exhibition of skepticism, Lianna retorted with narrowed eyes, "And I suppose that's your reason for every time that you arrived at this hour to pick up your son?" She shook her head disapprovingly to exacerbate the point. _What the fuck was Murphy? Five? _"Mr. MacManus, even when I'm not at the center, my associates inform me that Liam is _always_ the last child here. I'm surprised that he hasn't once complained or even cried that he's here, usually with only my company and that of the other workers, for hours. It isn't good for the child to feel like he's being continuously forgotten and even abandoned by his own father…"

Finding himself quickly losing his patience and reserve at her comments, Murphy automatically barked, "Listen, _Miss D'Arcy_, I'd appreciate it if ye'd leave all o' the parentin' skills ta me, alright?" A restrained snarl now appeared upon the sides of his lips. Taking a step towards Lianna, who felt her defenses rise at this action, he hissed in a low tone, "There's a lot o' shit goin' on in me life right now, and ye don't know anythin' 'bout it. So please, save yer judgments about me and me family to yerself."

Lianna gulped at this unbridled onslaught, trying to gain her composure and retain her façade of professionalism. She defended her words with, "I'm_ not_ trying to make any judgments about you or your abilities as a parent, Mr. MacManus. I'm simply reminding you of the fact that being late almost every single time that you pick up your son is irresponsible and may have an effect on Liam himself." She halted at this point, feeling frustrated that her words seemed to be falling upon deaf ears. "Maybe now is not the time to talk about this…"

Murphy took another menacing step forward, enclosing the space between them even more. "Oh, I think it's the _perfect_ time ta talk about this. Say what ye have ta say, Miss D'Arcy!" He held out his hands to his sides. "Don't think for a fuckin' second that I don't know that ye and yer fellow childcare workers have already run yer mouths dry with commentary 'bout me. So for once, I'd just like ta hear it straight from the horse's mouth, if ye'd be _kind_ enough ta _enlighten_ me."

No longer intimidated by his presence, Lianna inclined her head, meeting Murphy's stern gaze with her own with little hesitation. "We have said nothing negative about you or your family, Mr. MacManus, and I stand by that statement." Her eyes narrowed once more, feeling her emotions take over her conscience. "My annoyance isn't only stemming from your habitual lateness. Liam himself has told me things, and has willingly done so, that have forced me to speak with you about the matter."

The fact of the matter was, Murphy wasn't unaware of his somewhat truant behaviour as of late. Rather, he had been berating himself continuously about it, frankly looking into the bottom of alcohol bottles for the answers. Should he be surprised that he hasn't received any?

The expression on Lianna's face softened during the silent interval as her eyes feely scanned Murphy's countenance. "Your son loves you very deeply and wants you to spend more time with him. All he ever talks about is you, Mr. MacManus, you and his 'Uncle Con'." The depth of sincerity in her eyes caught Murphy off-guard, making him take a step back from her form. "He misses you so much throughout the day and I know that it would mean so much so him if, for once, you'd actually be present at the time that you promised to be."

"I don't do this purposely," was Murphy's curt response, a tone of apology now replacing that of annoyance. "Ye gotta know that."

With a nod of acceptance, Lianna suggested positively, hoping to lighten the mood, "What if you and your wife co-ordinate…"

"Me wife is dead."

_Fuck. How did I admit that so easily? _

How did he admit it so easily to someone he _knew_ he would see again?

At this declaration, the vision that Lianna saw before her suddenly became clear. It had rolled off his tongue so easily, so plainly, that it overtly startled her. Mouth slightly agape in shock, coherent words refused to form in her head, let alone escape from her lips. What _could_ she say that he hasn't heard before?

"Da!"

With a squeal that could only belong to a mirthful child such as he, Liam appeared out of the playroom, rightly jogging towards his father. Murphy broke into a forced smile, squatting to his son's level and widening his arms in front of him. Jumping into his strong arms with a gleeful cry, Liam cheerfully wrapped his arms around his father's neck as he was subsequently hoisted off his feet. Ensuing to unleash a barrage of tickles upon his son, Murphy chuckled through his son's uncontrollable shrieks, rubbing his nose lightly upon Liam's.

Meanwhile, Lianna stood a meter away, still speechless and immobile. Having not a thought in her head, she could do nothing but merely observe the father and son interact in front of her. After a few moments, Liam's 'Bye, Miss Lianna!' somewhat managed to bring her to the present. Eyes finally focusing on the image in front of her, Liam had been re-placed on the ground, now standing upon his two feet once more. Taking his son's hand in his own, Murphy stood upright, clinging onto the small lunch bag that Liam had dragged unceremoniously behind him. With her brown eyes landing upon Murphy's form, she noticed that he no longer wore a smile, even the false one that he had managed a few moments prior. Though, before she could utter another word, the two were already heading towards the door.

"See ya tomorrow," Murphy lightly called out behind him, holding the door open for his skipping son. When he saw that Lianna nodded in understanding, he added, with sincerity lining his voice, "…on time."

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**A/N: How did you find this chapter? You think happiness is on the way anytime soon? xx IFHD**


	5. Epiphany

**A/N: Thank you to BelhavenOnTap, IrishSaints, Sith Happens and ivyshortcake for reviewing and to you for reading. I really like how some readers are on the fence about this story -- perfect, just the reaction I was going for! I really wanted to make this fic a stark contrast to "Even In Heaven", but you may find **_**some**_** similarities along the way. Though, the 'Tortured Saint' idea is just too good not to expand on, I think. Plus I like the humanity and realism as well. Cheers. xx IFHD**

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**Chapter 5: Epiphany**

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_**"Patience"**_

_**By: Take That**_

_Just have a little patience  
I'm still hurting from a love I lost  
I'm feeling your frustration  
Any minute all the pain will stop._

_Just hold me close inside your arms tonight  
Don't be too hard on my emotions._

_'Cause I  
Need time  
My heart is numb, has no feeling  
So while I'm still healing  
Just try and have a little patience._

_I really wanna start over again  
I know you wanna be my salvation  
The one that I can always depend._

_I'll try to be strong  
Believe me I'm trying to move on  
It's complicated but understand me._

_'Cause the scars run so deep  
It's been hard but I have to believe  
Just have a little patience [x2_

_Have a little patience  
My heart is numb, has no feeling_

_So while I'm still healing  
Just try and have a little patience_

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"A-a-nother one b-before ye g-get back ta w-work, Murph? FUCK! ASS!"

At this question, Murphy threw Doc a shrug of indifference, slightly twisting his body upon the rusted, wobbling bar stool in order to face the loveable bartender. "Sure, Doc. Hit me."

Even at high noon, McGuinty's was packed with patrons from wall to wall, with some even trickling onto the patio regardless of the crisp weather. The bar had grown quite popular over the years as more and more Bostonians, and even out-of-towners, heard about the establishment. No, it certainly just wasn't 'an Irish bar' on the corner of Church Street any longer; it had suddenly become one of South Boston's favourite destinations, no matter what time of day it was.

"Oi, boys!" Motioning to the MacManus twins as they identically inclined their heads in his direction, Doc motioned his arm towards the stage situated at a back corner of the bar. "Take a listen ta this next act. After a few seconds, ye'll wonder why she doesn't have a record contract or somethin'!"

Murphy and Connor mindlessly nodded and simultaneously turned upon their stool, drinks held firmly in hand. As Murphy's eyes observed the stage through the passing figures of various patrons, he immediately squinted as he spotted a familiar face. _The fuck's Lianna D'Arcy doin' 'ere?_ He inwardly questioned, brows furrowing as he took another sip of his ale. Struck by curiosity, he decided to keep silent, albeit noticing that Connor had recognized her as well.

In a simple, though beautiful, emerald dress, Lianna took a seat upon the centre stool on the stage. Taking the guitar from the stand to her side and gripping it in her dainty hands, she positioned the instrument comfortably upon her lap then ensued to adjust the microphone in front of her. Lightly clearing her throat, she scanned the crowd before her; not so much out of nervousness, but out of curiosity as to who was actually paying attention. Seeing some encouraging toasts and hearing faint whistles, she smiled in polite acceptance and began to strum…

_Traveller of great divides_

_Vagrant on a path to life_

_Everyday feels a little closer_

_To where it is that you're headed for_

_Given to a hope of so much more…_

With the chattering silenced to a hush of reverence, all eyes fell upon this lone, glowing figure upon the stage.

_For every time you fall apart_

_There'll be a soul to guide your journey_

_But if you choose to turn away_

_There in the mirror_

_You'll see my face_

_You'll see my face_

_Think you're on this road alone_

_Looking for a truth untold_

_Many times you've been close to breaking_

_Giving up and letting go_

_Something inside says it's not over…_

Murphy found that his heart skipped a beat, a sensation that he found wholly disturbing. Gripping the half-filled glass in front of him, her voice slowly sunk into the depths of his being. He was so affected, so _haunted_ by her words that he had the sudden urge to stand and bolt out of the establishment. Though, it was when her eyes suddenly met his that his breath truly caught in his throat. A flash of recognition instantly appeared within her dark-brown orbs, and she momentarily stalled. Though furrowing his brows at her reaction, Murphy didn't break his gaze and merely continued to observe her in simultaneous awe and curiosity. Lianna's eyes continued to lock with his as she continued…

_For every time you fall apart  
There'll be a soul to guide your journey  
But if you choose to turn away  
There in the mirror  
You'll see my face_

_And when the world crowds your space  
Remember days when noise was silent  
Now empty vows, loveless displays  
Just a sense of knowing  
You'd see my face  
You'd see my face_

As she strummed the last chord, she found that the bar was deathly silent. With eyes fluttering open, Lianna peered into the crowd, wondering about their reaction – or lack thereof. Her thoughts were quickly answered as a sole clapping began - coming from none other than Connor - which was soon followed by raucous cheers, clinking glass, and fists lively banging upon tables. Smiling in appreciation with a light blush colouring her cheeks, Lianna placed her guitar upon the stand once more and proceeded to hop off the stage. Only a second after she had done so, several men and women surrounded her to offer their congratulations and invite her for a drink. Though she politely took the compliments, she turned down offers as nicely as she could and ensued to zigzag her way through the mesh of bodies, heading straight for the main bar. Eyes narrowing as she searched for any sign of Murphy, her shoulders visibly slumped when she found none.

Feeling a light tap on her shoulder a few moments later, she whirled around, finding herself face to face with the man she had been looking for. With her countenance visibly glowing at his sight, she began, "I thought it was you, Mr. MacManus!"

"Ye did great up there." Murphy sheepishly motioned his head towards the stage as he placed his hands in his pockets. As she meekly voiced her thanks, he commented, "Surprised ta see ye here, though. Shouldn't ye be with some kids? More specifically, me son?" He cleared his throat, a mixture of seriousness and teasing lining his voice as he finished, "Ye didn't leave 'im on 'is own somewhere, did ye? Ye _do_ know the kind o' trouble he can cause on 'is own, don't ye?"

"I would never do that." Lianna broke out into a smile at his subtle playfulness as she shook her head. "It's my only day off this week, so I decided to come here and do something I love." She gave Murphy a light nudge. "And don't worry, Mr. MacManus. I _assure_ you that your son is in good hands."

"Liam probably misses ye, then."

Lianna's mouth slightly parted, not really knowing now to respond to Murphy's statement. At this point, though, Connor's throat-clearing interrupted the comfortable silence between the two. Attentions now on the blonde MacManus, Connor lightly declared, "Well, as Doc says, I'm gonna go make like a tree and get the fuck outta 'ere." He then grinned widely as though quite proud of his latter statement, through the meaning of this phrase was entirely lost on Lianna. Placing a friendly hand on her back, he complimented her with, "Ye've got a very nice voice, Miss D'Arcy, just like an angel. Keep this up and ye'll be famous in no time." Connor then turned his attention to his brother as he began to stride towards the exit. "See ya in a bit, bro. Make sure ye get back ta the plant in half an hour or else McGerkin'll be on our asses again for bein' late!"

As Connor took his leave, Murphy and Lianna found themselves alone once more. Sheepishly eyeing Murphy as another moment of silence passed between them, Lianna began softly, "Mr. MacManus, may I have a word with you? I mean, somewhere a little more quiet?"

"Sure." Murphy replied simply, throwing her a nod of agreement as his eyes scanned the establishment. Finding that there would be no place for a private conversation within, he suggested, "Guess we can step outside."

Following Murphy's lead, Lianna placed a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. She had harboured feelings of guilt ever since the last time she had spoken with Murphy and had been meaning to speak with him about it. Now that she had the opportunity to do so, she wasn't quite sure what to say or how to act.

As they stepped out into the front of the bar to the welcome sound of silence, Murphy began the conversation with, "I didn't know ye did gigs like this."

Lianna's head slightly tilted in mirth, a small smile appearing on her face. "We all have secret lives, don't we?"

At this comment, Murphy couldn't help but plaster a smug smile on his face. "Guess so."

"Mr. MacManus, I just…"

"Murphy."

"Murphy." Lianna confidently repeated, finding that the name easily fell from her lips. "To be quite frank, I feel really awful about yesterday." Feeling more self-conscious during her confessional, her gaze immediately fixated to the ground as she nervously wrung her hands in front of her. "I shouldn't have made conclusions about –"

"It's alright." Murphy quickly replied with the utmost sincerity, fingers playing with his lighter in his pockets. He blurted, "I shouldn't have snapped at ye. That wasn't very polite o' me." The softness of his voice caught Lianna's attention, wholly relieving her. Just then, their gazes briefly met, understanding solidified between them.

In order to help bandage the situation further, Lianna offered, "Look, if I can do anything to help you and Liam, don't hesitate to ask."

Murphy felt his lips twitch in annoyance at this. In the calmest voice that he could muster, he muttered, "No offence, but I'm not a big fan o' charity. Or pity, for that matter."

At this point, Lianna gingerly grasped the side of his arm, turning him slightly to face her. She immediately released him, though, when his eyes cascaded down her arm and landed upon the place where she was touching him. "Mr. Mac – Murphy, I'm not offering charity or pity."

"Aye, ye are."

They were at another standstill. Compounded by the uncomfortable silence that passed between them, Lianna felt as though she had crossed another line. She couldn't win this battle; to her, it seemed as though she couldn't win with this Murphy MacManus. He was immobile – so set in his ways, so consumed with pain and possibly guilt, that nothing, not even she, could dissuade him from reconsider his views. As Lianna sighed in an acceptance of defeat, Murphy looked up at her, curiously observing her with squinted eyes. After a few moments, she reasoned, "I don't want you to take any of this the wrong way, because I really mean no offence. I simply care for Liam and his well-being. I'm not trying to overstep any boundaries, I'm just…"

She immediately halted her speech and Murphy responded with silence. He merely continued to survey her, blue orbs tracing the curves of her strong, determined face. Lianna felt a bit unnerved by this, though continued to hold his gripping stare. Surprisingly, he was ultimately the first to falter. "Thank ye."

Lianna had enough confidence to place a comforting hand on his shoulder as she responded with, "You're welcome, Murphy."

It was then that Murphy suddenly felt the urge to kiss her. Alarmed by this unexpected sensation, he calmly resisted his instincts, blurting out instead, "I haven't told anyone about that. Ta be honest, I don't know how I told ye so easily…"

He was suddenly interrupted by deafening gunshots that pierced the thin air around them. With a shriek, Lianna immediately ducked, capping her ears with her palms. Instinctively, Murphy embraced her, using his entire body to cover hers as they crouched upon the ground. Ears suddenly alert, Murphy listened for the commotion in their midst, trying to pinpoint exactly where the shots were coming from. Determining that it was dangerously a mere block away, he gritted his teeth, pushing his tweed coat open with the back of his hand. In an automatic motion, he swiftly felt for his gun in the inner pocket. Feeling only the flat surface that he found there, he inwardly groaned, now remembering that he had rid of himself all of his weapons and had given them all to his brother. _Fuck._ Murphy was now only another civilian, another helpless onlooker that had no other choice but to duck or die. _I need ta protect her_. _Shit. I need ta protect her! _ With a slight curse, he resumed to cover Lianna as they sprawled upon the hard, littered gravel below.

With screeching tires sounding faintly in the background, the shots slowly faded, now lost somewhere in the distance. Breaking heavily, Murphy worriedly held Lianna's face in between his palms, thumb slightly grazing her lips as he examined her face. "Hey, hey, ye alright?" As he placed a hand upon her back in order to help her stand, he could feel her body involuntarily trembling beneath his fingertips, shaking as though it were the dead of winter.

Lianna's once expressive orbs were now wide and coloured with fear and panic. With a shaky breath, she uttered not a word, chest heaving so maniacally that Murphy thought it was surely going to burst. In an exhibition of shock, she flung her arms around Murphy's neck, rivulets of tears cascading down her cheeks and plummeting to their deaths towards the ground.

Emotionally, Murphy had been almost completely unaffected by the sounds of the gunshots. What unnerved him, rather, was the warm body that he now held in his arms, a form that clung onto his own as though for dear life. He could no longer concentrate on his surroundings but only on the frightened woman that fit so securely into his arms, as though she belonged there. Lightly pressing his chin upon her dainty forehead, he took in the flowery scent of her hair as he began to soothe her. Comfort, consolation; now, those two things he had become used to receiving in more ways than one. Though, the concept of actually _providing_ comfort and consolation seemed so foreign that it brought about confusion within him. A _good_ sort of confusion, he concluded, if that even existed. When he felt Lianna incline her head so that she would be able to meet his gaze, he only eyed her, almost reverently, and remained silent. Her expression resembled that of a frightened child, one who screamed for help. _I need ta help her. _Gingerly tracing a hand upon the side of her face, he merely brought her closer to him, lips resting upon her temple. In unison, their bodies began to gently rock from side to side as distant sirens began to pierce the cold, Boston air.

_Song "The Face" by RyanDan_

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**A/N: What did you all think? Will Murphy learn to love (properly) again, or will Lianna be another victim of this somewhat emotionally unstable Saint? Till next time, my lovely readers! xx IFHD**


	6. Second Chances

**A/N: First of all, thank you to those who reviewed: Sith Happens, GoddessLaughs, BelhavenOnTap, alandava, moviemaniac07, Jade Opal and IrishSaints. Your support and encouragement really help me to keep inspired! I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story, however different it may be. Thank you for reading as well. I hope you enjoy this next one.**

**Also, if you're interested, the sequel to "Even In Heaven", "Even In Heaven II: Saints' Scourge", is up, so check it out if you have the time and let me know what you think! xx IFHD**

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**Chapter 6: Second Chances**

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_**"One Last Chance"**_

_**By: James Morrison**_

_In my life I don't mean much to anyone  
I've lost my way can't go back anymore  
Once I had everything now it's gone  
Don't tell me again cause I've heard it all before_

_Some people say that I'm not worth it  
I've made mistakes but nobody's perfect  
Guess I'll give it a try_

_I've got one last chance to get myself together  
I can't lose no more time it's now or never _

_and I try to remember who I used to be  
I've got one more chance to get myself together_

_The time has come for me to change again  
I can't carry on like this, I will lose my friends_

_Don't say that you have given up on me  
Just give me the time and space to heal my head_

_I don't wanna be misunderstood  
I've got to take this chance and make it into something good._

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"Oi, who's next?"

"Get one o' 'em MacManus boys up 'ere!"

"Aye, a MacManus boy!"

As a result of the twins' acute sense of hearing, they simultaneously inclined their heads at the chorus of encouraging cheers and claps that now surrounded them. After alternately eyeing their numerous, beaming co-workers, the two Irishmen shared a glance, with Connor widely grinning at the continuous chants and Murphy rightly wincing as the hearty prodding only continued to increase.

Not far from where they both stood, the stage had been set for a MacManus to make a fool out of himself in front of the entire plant…_again_. As the blessed hour of five o'clock arrived, the fun-loving employees of the Boston Meat-Packing Corporation ensued to live their sacred motto of "Work Hard, Play Hard". Shutting down all of the conveyor belts and various machinery, they subsequently assembled various blocks of raw meat, hanging them in two, alternate rows on swinging hooks. Inspired by "American Gladiator", they stationed a worker at each vertical ram, poised to swing the slab of meat at the next victim that decided to run through what they had dubbed the "Get-yer-arse-movin-or-ye'll-get-a-cow-in-yer-face Path O' Death". Essentially a narrow path between the two lines of sliced carcasses, each contestant was expected to make their way through it while attempting to dodge the swinging animals. It was another great way to end the day at The Boston Meat-Packing Plant Corporation, indeed.

"C'mon, Murph!" Connor exclaimed in such mirthful enthusiasm that it made Murphy overtly squirm in disgust. "Get a load o' this shite that they've set up! We can't _possibly_ turn down this opportunity, now can we?"

"Aye, we can." Murphy replied in a monotone voice, visibly unamused by Connor's unabashed excitement. Ensuing to remove his dirtied gloves and blood-covered coat, he mindlessly tossed them in a bin, continuing, "Quite easily, actually. The fuck are we, Con, five?"

With furrowed brows and a restrained frown, Connor tapped his twin on the side of his arm, stating, "A year ago, ye would've been the first ta jump at an opportunity like this without even bein' asked. Hell, ye'd even punch down big, fat, angry lesbians ta be able ta be first!" The blonde Irishman ruffled his spiked hair in slight frustration, musing in a melancholy tone, "I miss that old Murph. What the fuck happened ta him?"

_He's dead_.

In response to this, Murphy shifted his gaze from his brother's form and muttered evasively, "Look, I can't be late ta pick up Liam in a couple o' hours, so if ye wanna go and dodge some cows, go do it now."

"Pfft! I know how yer mind works! Ye just wanna get there early ta talk ta Lianna, ye bastard!" Through Murphy's slight discomfort at these assured statements, a beaming grin reappeared on Connor's face, entirely lightening up the Irishman's countenance. "Be back in a sec."

Catering to the desires of his admirers, Connor held his hands in the air, cocksure, as he marched towards the starting point. With another round of cheers and claps colouring his confidence, he rolled his shoulders in conspicuous preparation, slightly hopping in place. Countenance plastered with firm resolve, he narrowed his eyes as he kissed his rosary in luck, wholly concentrated upon the finish line. As he heard "go!" through the noise, he instantly bolted from his place, spinning, turning, ducking, and side-stepping to avoid the pendulums of beef. Expression automatically altered by this sight, Murphy was highly impressed at his brother's litheness and agility. However, just as Connor was about to step over the finish line, a young calf managed to collide with him dead-on…

…right in his family jewels.

A hushed silence instantly swept through the plant, with only the squeaking of the swinging hooks being audible. Though, after a few moments, Murphy's childish chuckles began to echo through the room. Closing his eyes and slapping his thighs in sheer amusement, he nonchalantly strolled over to his brother's side, who was now crouching with his arms in between his thighs and beet-red in complete and utter pain. "Well, Con, _that_ was certainly eventful. Glad you went through it?"

"Shut the fuck up and get me some ice!"

Murphy scoffed indignantly, repeatedly flicking his fingers at his brother's ear. "Ye were the one stupid enough ta play in the first place, ye tit. Now take it like a man and start walkin'!" Scanning the observing crowd around them, Murphy raised a salutatory hand, proclaiming, "He's fine, folks, just bruised in the nuts!"

Through the whooping laughter that entirely blanketed them, Connor groaned, though more out of embarrassment than out of pain. Limping as slowly as a tortoise as his twin continuously poked and prodded him, they finally made their way towards the exit of the plant.

As the twins strode through Longfellow Bridge, Connor held up his hand in silent surrender, automatically informing his brother that he needed a break. With an almost inaudible scoff, Murphy lightly pushed his brother along towards a semi-circular balcony jutting out from the side of the bridge. Overlooking the Boston skyline, the two reverently took in the awe-inspiring view, astonished that this city could still take their breath away even after all of these years.

Languidly lighting a cigarette trapped in between his lips, Murphy piped up lightly, "So how are ye and Kaleigh doin'?"

"Really well," Connor let out a sigh through his smirk, blowing his breath into the crisp, Boston air. "Can't believe we've been together for almost a year now. This is probably the most functional relationship that I've ever been in all me life. Don't ye agree?"

"Considerin' that ye usually can't stay committed for more than a month, aye, I do agree."

Connor ensued to unleash a barrage of punches upon Murphy's arm, though was unable to counter this remark. Murphy only smirked and quietly protected himself from his twin's onslaught. When he was satisfied enough with his dealt punishment, Connor cleared his throat before he meekly disclosed, "I think she's the one, Murph. I really do." Another complacent sigh. "I wanna propose ta her."

Murphy was entirely taken aback by this statement. It was not only the fact that this, coming from Connor, had never occurred in the past; rather, it was due to the fact that he was disturbed to feel slightly _jealous_. He knew that he was completely happy for his brother and was wholeheartedly thankful that he had finally found love, but as much as he dared not to admit it, the green-eyed monster viciously lurked within him, rearing its ugly head in full force. "That's great ta hear, Con. Really happy for ye."

Owing either to twin telepathy or possibly divine guidance, Connor sensed a different meaning behind Murphy's obviously forced congratulations. Leaning his elbows on the stony, eroding ledge, Connor let out a dragged sigh, eyes mindlessly scanning the distant view. "Don't hurt yerself jumpin' for joy there, Murph," the blonde MacManus poked mockingly, though remaining light-hearted, "We can't 'ave two MacManuses hurt in one day."

Following his brother's lead, Murphy slightly bowed his head and tightly clasped his hands together out in front of him. "Sorry, it's just…fuck. I don't know! But what I do know is that I'm _really_ happy for ye, Con, even though I don't show it." His brown orbs flickered upwards, meeting his brother's sapphire ones as he solidified the apology. He continued in the utmost sincerity, "Kaleigh's a great lass, and ye deserve her. Ye two deserve each other."

With a hand lightly squeezing his brother's shoulder in an exhibition of thanks, Connor mustered enough courage to blurt, "Maybe ye need ta find love again."

"I have."

Connor instantly winced. "Not _that_ kind o' love, Murph. Ye know what I mean." He retrieved his hand as he pointedly cleared his throat. "One night stands don't count, is what I'm tryin' ta say…"

Although Connor was obviously being cautious with his words, Murphy was completely unphased. Connor's words barely triggered a response, let alone a reaction, from him. Murphy shrugged dismissively and replied, "Well, I love Liam and I love me family. That's enough."

"How 'bout Smecker?" Connor snickered, repeatedly raising his eyebrows for effect. "He's been askin' bout ye, ye know!"

"Oh, fuck ye, Con!"

"Well he _has_!" Connor retorted as-a-matter-of-factly, standing by his statement. "Just yesterday I went over ta the police station and talked ta him about those gunshots ye heard outside o' McGuinty's." Face now entirely devoid of jest, he firmly declared, "I found the fuckers responsible, Murph. It was the same mob we were supposed ta take out a month ago."

Attention now wholly gained by this, Murphy furrowed his brows. "The fuck happened?"

"Smecker couldn't tell me all the details because he was too busy doin' other shite with the detectives, but basically the fuckers had a drug deal that went sour. They went after the source, which was, funny enough, right beside our good ol' meat-packin' plant. There was some kind o' car chase, and it passed by Church Street." With a tightened jaw, Connor's eyes had turned menacingly dark. He gripped the ledge in front of him, knuckles slightly turning white. "All this time, the drug-packin' plant was right under our fuckin' noses!"

"Or right beside it." Murphy offered morosely, gaze fixated on his brother. "So what are ye goin' ta do?"

A wry smile then appeared on Connor's countenance as he admitted with a tinge of sarcasm, "I think _now_ would be a good time ta talk about _us_, Murph." Fully twisting his body to turn to his twin, Connor continued almost pleadingly, "Ye can't keep lettin' me take out these bastards all on me own. It ain't the same without ye, Murph. I fuckin' miss ye. I know ye can feel it, too, so don't even fuckin' start."

_I miss ye too, Con._

Murphy didn't want to admit, even to his own self, that during those first few gunshots, he had felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins once more. It was his addiction, his bloody crack. Hell, he had even instinctively reached for his gun when he first heard those shots. It was so mechanical, automatic…_expected_. Albeit by his brother this time around, was he being called to Sainthood once more? Yes, he could hear it. He could fuckin' _feel_ it. _Murphy, come out to play!_, a voice eerily chimed.

And he wanted to play.

What Murphy realized at that moment was _why_ he was gravitating towards this idea of becoming a Saint once more. This vendetta was _personal_: not only could _he_ have been hit by stray bullets, but Lianna as well. _Her_ life had been in danger; her person had been exposed to this type of violence, and undeservingly so. As his memories flashed back to her frightened frame clinging onto his body, he suddenly felt so angered, so enraged, that he was all the more convinced to once more answer his call, his duty – his divine mission.

"Come on, Murph…for old time's sake?"

Through Murphy's silence, Connor had pushed his tweed coat open. Daintily retrieving a pistol from his inner pocket, Murphy's eyes followed his brother's left hand as he, almost ceremonially, presented the shining weapon in front of him upon an open palm. "I think this belongs ta ye."

Heavy breathing and slight hesitation. Murphy's chest visibly heaved up and down, a testament to the severity of the situation, the seriousness of what his brother currently offered him: a second chance. Lifting his arm ever so slowly, Murphy's long, calloused fingers traced the pistol's steel handle. Visions of memories flashed through his mind: the planning, the stakeouts, the hits. Almost reverently, he felt the small, rigid bumps of the pistol's sides, the coolness of its make, and the engraving of its name upon the top: _Aequitas_. This was _his_ weapon; a weapon that he had used countless times to offer salvation, retribution, and even peace of mind.

All reservations finally left him as his fingers gripped the weapon's handle. As Connor lowered his arm, Murphy firmly held the weapon on his own, the feeling so foreign and distant yet so…_fitting_. Quickly placing the weapon in his own coat pocket, Murphy's sharp gaze met with Connor's as he steadfastly declared, "Just this _one_ hit, Con. That's it."

The joy that Connor felt was entirely expressed in his twinkling, sapphire orbs. "So we're the Saints of South Boston again?"

"For now."

"Good enough for me." Slugging an arm around Murphy's shoulders, he cheerfully proclaimed, "Welcome back, twin. Welcome back."

In a move that slightly startled Connor, Murphy suddenly exclaimed, "Shit! I'm forgettin' one thing!"

With a worried expression lining his handsome face, Connor questioned with a raised brow, "What?"

"I need ta find a fuckin' babysitter!"

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**A/N: A fun chapter this time around! I was getting sad for making Murphy sad, so I decided to lighten it up a little bit! Hope you all thought it was good. Cheers! xx IFHD**


	7. Resurrection

**A/N: I've somewhat cured my writer's block for this story. Hope this chapter's up to par! Thanks to IrishSaints, alandava and BelhavenOnTop for reviewing this chapter and thank you for reading! I'm glad to see people still reading this story. xx IFHD**

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**Chapter 7: Resurrection**

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_**"Cry"**_

_**By: James Blunt**_

_I have seen peace. I have seen pain,  
Resting on the shoulders of your name.  
Do you see the truth through all their lies?  
Do you see the world through troubled eyes?  
And if you want to talk about it anymore,  
Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,  
I'm a friend._

_I have seen birth. I have seen death.  
Lived to see a lover's final breath.  
Do you see my guilt? Should I feel a fright?  
Is the fire of hesitation burning bright?  
And if you want to talk about it once again,  
On you I depend. I'll cry on your shoulder.  
You're a friend._

_You and I have lived through many things.  
I'll hold on to your heart.  
I wouldn't cry for anything,  
But don't go tearing your life apart._

_I have seen fear. I have seen faith.  
Seen the look of anger on your face.  
And if you want to talk about what will be,  
Come and sit with me, and cry on my shoulder,  
I'm a friend.  
And if you want to talk about it anymore,  
Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,  
Once again.  
Cry on my shoulder,  
I'm a friend._

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Murphy stood face to face with a closed, white door. Immobile, he merely continued to stare alternately from the quaint doorbell to the door itself, an inner battle visibly raging within him. Awkwardly clearing his throat and narrowing his eyes in determination, he finally mustered enough courage to lift his arm after a few moments, poised and ready to press the bloody doorbell. _Here goes nothin'_, he inwardly thought, finally able to go through what he disturbingly felt so antsy about.

It was not long until light, brisk footsteps upon wooden floors greeted his ears. After another few moments of standing in the crisp, Boston dusk, the white door that he had observed for several, silent minutes finally opened, revealing the woman that he had been eager – or downright _nervous_ – to see.

"Mr. MacManus!" Almost as though an automatic reaction, Lianna grinned from ear to ear, brown orbs twinkling with mirth at the sight of the Saint. "What are you…"

"Murphy." He delicately corrected her once more, meekly placing his hands in his pockets. Fighting the sensation to impolitely stare at her form, he proceeded to uncontrollably ramble, "Look, Lianna, I'm sorry if my bein' 'ere is freakin' ye out a bit, but I only asked the daycare where ye lived because I was wonderin' if ye could do me a favour and, well…" It was then that he briefly paused, beginning to mindlessly fidget with an insignificant button on his coat. Regaining his composure, he finished with a bit more restraint, "I wanted ta see how ye were holdin' up an' all after the incident at McGuinty's."

"Oh!" Another brilliant smile appeared on her kind face, ensuing to soften her already gentle expression. Murphy felt a bit more at ease with this reaction. With the utmost sincerity, she replied, "Thank you, Murphy, I'm…I'm doing alright." Momentarily looking behind her, she took a firm step back, widening the door before him. "Did you want to come in?"

At first, Murphy expected complete hesitation to automatically possess him; but after a few moments of silent reflection, he realized that he felt no grain of hesitation whatsoever. On the contrary, he felt somewhat _relieved_ that she had asked for his company, however short his visit would be. Eyes connecting with hers, he meekly replied, "Thanks, I'd love ta."

Murphy spent the next few minutes observing his surroundings. He felt instant comfort and ease the moment he stepped through the threshold, the faint scent of lavender filling his nostrils. Lianna's home was quaint and inviting, in his opinion, moderately filled with modest furnishings that weren't anything out of the ordinary. Though, he realized how much her home resembled Lianna herself: simple, though elegant, with class. Feeling a bit reserved and even slightly timid in her presence, Murphy remained silent as she guided him into the nearby living room.

"Do you want something to drink?" Lianna inquired with a small smile.

Politely shaking his head, Murphy replied with a forced smirk, "Nah, I'm alright, thanks."

With a nod of understanding, Lianna took her place upon a black loveseat. After a few moments, Murphy ensued to follow her lead, curiously observing her.

"So what about that favour?"

It was then that Murphy felt slightly reluctant to ask Lianna a favour, especially knowing_ why_ he was asking her in the first place. Disregarding his doubts, he continued, "I was wonderin' if ye would be home this comin' Saturday night and would be willin' ta look after Liam for a 'lil bit? Me brother and I have some business ta take care of, and we really can't take Liam along."

Lianna pursed her pink lips in thought. "I'll be home from about six, if that's convenient?"

"Oh, that's fine, that's great." Murphy quickly responded, content that she didn't seem to mind his request at all. "It'll only be for a few hours, so I won't be coming back to pick him up that late. I don't wanna take up a lot o' yer time, but I know that Liam's fond o' ye and ye were the first person that I thought of ta ask."

"I'm honoured." A small laugh escaped Lianna's lips as she placed her hand upon his in gratitude. "Not to worry, Murphy, I'll be happy to do it. It helps that I'm quite fond of your little Liam as well!"

Although Lianna didn't seem to be conscious of her friendly gesture, Murphy, on the other hand, was fully aware of how her delicate skin grazed upon his own, simultaneously burning and soothing him. She made no move to retrieve her hand, even after another few seconds passed by – and that worked quite well, because Murphy, wholly astonished by this, didn't want her to.

The sudden shrill of the nearby phone caused the two of them to jump in unison. A bit startled, Lianna blinked a few times, as though registering where she was. "Excuse me." She began to reach behind Murphy in order to grasp the blaring apparatus perched upon the coffee table at his side. Hand slipping off the leather couch as she did so, she subsequently lost her support, which caused her to abruptly slide forward towards Murphy's form. In an instant reflex action, Murphy held out his arms, catching her mid-fall and keeping her from rightly toppling over the couch. With a gasp, Lianna managed to regain her balance, lightly pushing herself from Murphy's adamantine chest. She whispered meekly, inclining her head to face him, "Sorry, I'm pretty clumsy."

Finding that his next statement was almost as reflexive as his saving abilities, Murphy poked, "Ye sure ye weren't comin' on ta me?"

The teasing question not only caught Lianna off-guard, but Murphy himself as well. _Did I just…_tease_ her_? He shook his head for good measure. Teasing. Another one of his well-known attributes came to the surface without his control. _What the fuck?_

Lianna could only respond by laughing through her slight discomfort. She slapped Murphy's upper arm in a playful manner, rejoining, "Now, Murphy, what do you take me for?" Straightening her spine, she made sure she placed adequate space between her and Murphy as she plopped back down on the couch with the phone in hand.

Murphy genuinely smirked._ How endearing_.

He found it hard not to stare at her as she spoke on the phone. He could hear bits and pieces of the conversation, but he wasn't concentrating on what she was saying at all. Instead, Murphy focused on the sound of her soothing voice, the light giggle that naturally came from her from time to time. Her person screamed of such kindness and sincerity that it began to rapidly engulf him. By just observing her, he could see why he was willing to leave his Liam in her hands, to place his trust in her.

When Lianna replaced the phone upon the receiver once more, Murphy's hand found its way upon the small of her back. It was an act of instinct, aye, but a _different_ kind of instinct at that. Frozen stalk still at the feeling of his touch, Lianna nervously gulped, brown orbs flickering to meet Murphy's own in silent question. The darkness in his eyes entirely unnerved her; it wasn't the darkness of malice or hatred, no, but a darkness of complete…_passion_.

Positioning herself so that she now hovered over him, Lianna then bit her bottom lip in pleasure, closing her eyes as she reveled in the sensation of Murphy's tender touch. His long fingers languidly traced up and down her spine, and even through the fabric of her clothing, it still felt as though his mere touch scorched her skin. Letting out a ragged breath, Lianna daintily wrapped her arms around Murphy's neck, delicately placing her head upon his open chest. With lips pressed upon her forehead, Murphy found the nerve to admit, "I was really worried about ye, ye know? When I saw how ye shook after the shootin', I…" he then trailed off, running his free hand upon his eyes and his fingers through his mussed hair. "…I was scared for ye."

"And I was scared to death." Mindlessly drawing circles upon Murphy's chest and abdomen, Lianna let out a long exhale. "I've never personally experienced anything like that before. If you hadn't been with me, I probably would've panicked and have done something brash."

_I wanted ta be there for ye. _

_I want ta be here for ye._

Little did Murphy want to admit it himself, something about those gunshots and the vision of Lianna fearing for her life triggered something in his heart. At this point, he felt his wounds alarmingly reopen, the knife of memories cutting deep within his being. Emotions uncontrollably exploded within him; all of his repressed feelings suddenly became uncaged. With an abrupt sniff, he fought back the pearls of water – of confusion, frustration and utter rage – that began to form upon the brink of his eyelids.

Hearing his heavy breathing and feeling the erratic rising and falling of his chest, Lianna's eyes immediately ascended towards' Murphy's face. Frowning at the sounds of almost inaudible sobs, she brought Murphy closer to her, tightening her arms around his neck and pressing her body more fully upon his own. Murphy, in return, gripped the back of her shirt and buried his face upon the crook of her neck. _Fuck it. Fuck it all._ He was fully sobbing now, and so unbridled were his sobs that it took a moment for Lianna to calm herself and ensue to rub the back of this fallen Saint. She promptly deduced that he was still grieving and was still haunted by his recent past. She could only imagine the difficulty that he was going through with regards to placing the pieces of his life back together. "Shh, it's alright. Murphy, it's alright." Feeling the tears forming upon her eyes, Lianna felt so much empathy for the being that she held in her arms. With a long inhale, she gingerly pressed her lips upon Murphy's forehead as she continually caressed his back. "Cry it all out. Do what you need to do, Murphy. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," were the only words that Murphy could vocalize at this point without outright stammering. He wasn't at all embarrassed to exhibit his true emotions in front of Lianna, and this was the one fact that disturbed him. Slightly pulling away from her form, his lips tenderly grazed the side of her cheek, instantly igniting a flame within her. As Murphy's forehead connected with hers, Lianna remained completely still, uncertain of how to respond.

It was not long until she found that she didn't need to. Tenderly, Murphy's slick, parted lips met with her own, tracing them not out of teasing, but almost as though he was familiarizing himself with new, uncharted territory. When Murphy deepened the kiss, Lianna sighed and closed her eyes, breath catching at her throat. She suddenly felt so overcome by Murphy's presence, closeness, and taste that it was almost enough to send her over the edge. She was lost now, and she knew it.

In a swift motion, Murphy guided Lianna's body upon his so that she now straddled him. With their hips firmly locked, he ensued to slither his arms around the small of her back, breathing in her scent once more. _Like the smell of fresh rain_. With a flick of his tongue, he captured her lips in his own once more, kissing her with such passion that Lianna could not control the groan that automatically came from her throat. Lifting the shirt from her back, Murphy began to trace the fullness of her smooth skin with his fingertips. Feeling the sheer warmth that emanated from her entire body made him shiver. Murphy was now driven by such longing and pure need that it was difficult for him to stop. Though, when he began to remove Lianna's shirt, she immediately gripped his arms with her hands, rendering them immobile.

At this point, Murphy's trance-like stare transformed into one of pure apology and concern. "Lianna, I'm sorry, I wasn't…" In almost a wave of panic, he shifted away from her form, placing a hand upon his face in frustration. "I'm sorry, I should go…"

Before Murphy could stand in an effort to escape, Lianna outstretched her hand towards him. Her open palm pressed against the side of his cheek, gaining his attention once more. With sincerity emanating from her eyes, she declared soothingly, "You have to stop apologizing, Murphy. You really do."

And Murphy knew that that was exactly what he has been doing for the past couple of years. Apologizing, seeking a mode of atonement, suffering as a form of self-inflicted penance. When the all-consuming guilt wouldn't subside, he accepted this life of hell as his fate, as punishment for all of the things that he had done in his lifetime – or as a punishment for the things he _should have_ done. He was experiencing the brunt of God's wrath, his unbridled vengeance for, in some way or another, displeasing him. Was there a way to escape it?

Murphy was unable to meet Lianna's eyes at this point. Through tight lips, he hissed, "I've fucked things up, haven't I?"

Frantically shaking her head, Lianna gently took Murphy's face in both palms of her hands, stating, "You haven't ruined anything, alright?" And to her, he really hadn't. She understood completely, and understood it all. Murphy's "feelings" for her couldn't be real; it was confusion with a tinge of lust, though she was certain that it wasn't any kind of sincere emotion. He sought comfort and consolation, not a significant other. He didn't care about her in that manner.

He couldn't.

"Good. I mean…alright." Flustered and frustrated, Murphy continued to fumble for words as he and Lianna made their way towards the front door. As he walked out onto the porch, he attempted to explain, "It's just, ye know, I don't want you to feel awkward and…"

"Just drop Liam off whenever you'd like after 6." Lianna forced a smile, purposely interrupting him. "I know your information and I have loads of food here if Liam gets hungry, so you have nothing to worry about. You have my number, so call to check up whenever you'd like. I'll wait up for you."

Lianna's objective was somewhat fulfilled as Murphy's thoughts were slightly steered from the earlier incident. "Thanks again, Lianna, um…" He scratched his head, as though thinking of something else to say. Then, awkwardly pointing to his parked vehicle behind him, he declared, "I'll just go now."

Lianna whispered her goodbyes as she observed him purposely stride towards his vehicle. Murphy threw her a brief wave before hopping inside the car. As his automobile sped into the dark distance, Lianna placed her fingertips upon her soft mouth, still feeling Murphy's lips upon them.

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**A/N: Well, well, well, what have we got here? How do you think Murphy's and Lianna's relationship is going to turn out, and either way, will it be good for either of them? Thanks for reading! xx IFHD**


	8. MacManus to MacManus

**A/N: After several weeks of writer's block regarding this story and deliberating whether to continue or not, I have finally decided NOT to continue this story. I don't know how you all feel about that, but I think if I continue it'll be complete shite and will be forced, so I'd rather not do that. Hope you enjoyed what I had written, though! We can just call it a very extended Oneshot.**

**Below is just a little excerpt that I had finished before all inspiration left me for this story. Cheers to those who have read and reviewed! xx IFHD**

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**Chapter 8: MacManus to MacManus**

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"_**Miracle"**_

_**By: Paramore**_

_I've gone for too long living like I'm not alive  
So I'm going to start over tonight  
Beginning with you and I  
When this memory fades  
I'm gonna make sure it's replaced  
With chances taken  
Hope embraced  
and have I told you?_

_I'm not going  
cause I've been waiting for a miracle  
And I'm not leaving  
I won't let you  
Let you give up on a miracle  
When it might save you_

_We've learned to run from  
Anything uncomfortable  
We've tied our pain below and no one ever has to know_

_That inside we're broken  
I try to patch things up again  
To calm my tears and kill these fears  
But have I told you, have I?_

_It's not faith if, if you use your eyes  
Oh why  
We'll get it right this time (this time)  
Let's leave this all behind  
Oh why  
We'll get it right this time  
It's not faith if you're using your eyes  
Oh why_

_I've gone for too long living like I'm not alive  
So I'm going to start over tonight  
Beginning with you and_

_I don't want to run from anything uncomfortable  
I just want, no  
I just need this pain to end right here_

_Yeah, it might save you  
Oh, it might save you_

_It's not faith if, if you use your eyes  
If you use your eyes  
If you use your eyes_

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"And shepherds we shall be, for thee, my Lord, for thee…"

Piercing the silence around them, they began the prayer in unison; MacManus to MacManus, MacManus to God. With eyes lightly closed and heads bowed in an exhibition of reverence, each word automatically fell from their lips as though guided by invisible, kindred spirits. This was their prayer, the emanation of their beings - the simple words that bound them as one.

Murphy's eyes fluttered open when he noticed that the voice of the MacManus beside him began to falter. Seeing his wrinkled brow, a manifestation of utter frustration, Murphy outstretched a hand to the side of his arm in simultaneous question and comfort. With a side frown, he inquired, "Hey, what's wrong?"

Now his eyes were wide open, ablaze with heightened emotions, as tears of upset brimmed upon its sides. "I forgot the words!"

A mirthful gaze passed through Murphy's brown orbs but was quick to disappear. "Come here, Liam." Easily scooping the lithe MacManus into his arms and upon his lap, he gently offered, "Now, how about ye just repeat after me?"

Through Liam's repetitive nods, they continued the prayer as father and son, a MacManus echoing the other. Though, Murphy could only hear Liam's voice, fumbling through syllables, carefully mouthing the Latin at the finish. Fingers to forehead, to chest, to left shoulder and the right. _My son._ He held onto him more tightly, lovingly…desperately._My life._

With a cry of sheer pride as a result of successfully completing the prayer, Liam ensued to jump from his father's arms and bury himself underneath the wrinkled covers of his bed in the manner of a groundhog. Gleefully laughing, he tucked the Batman-printed blankets around his tiny body as he rolled, now resembling a mini-cinnamon bun. Peeking his head in between the partial opening, he shot his father a crooked grin. "Hey Da, can I ask ye somethin'?"

Appreciative of his son's curiosity, Murphy replied as he ruffled Liam's mussed, light-brown hair, "Sure, kid. Fire away."

"Uncle Con told me that he's five minutes older than ye because he climbed outta Grandma's belly first," with a wrinkled expression plastered upon his countenance, Liam continued with an animated voice, "He said that he was much stronger than ye and pushed ye outta the way! Is it true?"

_Connor, ye mother…_ The outright seriousness that suddenly appeared on Murphy's visage slightly took Liam aback. When Murphy didn't respond after a few moments of complete silence, Liam tilted his head curiously to the side as he quietly watched his father literally grind his teeth in front of him.

Sternly placing his hands upon Liam's shoulder, Murphy attempted as best as he could to control his upset. Through tight lips, he declared with such conviction, "Yer Uncle Con isn't tellin' the truth, Liam. The truth is that _I_ am five minutes older than he is and that_ I_ pushed him outta the way ta get outta Grandma's belly first. Will ye promise ta remember this forever and ever?"

Liam nodded obediently at the sight of his father's raised brow, hair flapping upon his forehead. "I will, Da." He then paused thoughtfully, pursing his lips in remembrance. "Oh! I forgot. I heard him say that he had a bigger cock, too." Another wrinkled expression appeared on his face, this time of utter confusion. "…What's a cock?"

_CONNOR! YE FUCKIN'_… To save both Liam's innocence as well as some of his dignity accordingly, he hurriedly blurted, "A cock is a male chicken!"

"Ye and Uncle Con take care o' chickens?"

"Aye!"

"Where are they?"

"On a farm!"

"But Da, there aren't any farms around…"

Quickly kissing his son upon the forehead, Murphy stood and cried evasively, "It's yer bedtime! That means ye gotta go ta sleep!" A bit flustered by his innocent questions, and due to the complete annoyance that he felt towards Connor, Murphy let out a restrained noise of frustration, stomping heavily towards the doorway. As the plans for revenge upon his twin began to sift through his mind, the simple sound of Liam's softly-spoken words halted him in his tracks:

"I love you, Da."

At this sincere declaration, the surge of emotions that ensued to engulf Murphy resembled that of a tempest consuming the shoreline in its entire unbridled wrath. It was not the first time that his son had said this statement before, no. But there was just something in his voice, in his wholehearted expression, that hit Murphy to the very core of his being, that uncaged the emotions locked away, buried, deep in his heart. Fighting the tears that began to form in his eyes, he replied weakly, "I love you too, son. Sweet dreams."


End file.
